


Storm Clouds over Formenos

by Celebrimbor_Of_Eregion



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Canonverse AU, Dysfunctional Family, Family Relationships - Freeform, Gen, Suicide, Suicide mention, cruel valar, suicide attept
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-01-21 13:09:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21299972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celebrimbor_Of_Eregion/pseuds/Celebrimbor_Of_Eregion
Summary: For a failed suicide attempt, the Valar send Fëanor into exile. Finwë attempts to fix his relationship with his son while others react in their own ways.For thetidingsofthemagpie on tumblr.
Comments: 38
Kudos: 93





	1. Chapter 1

The room was dark, even though there was - finally - no rain this morning. The wind was quiet, and only the crackling of the fireplace and the soft sound of him writing could be heard - until the door creaked.

“My king?”

Finwë put away the quill and lifted his head to look at the visitor.

“Yes?”

“Lord Fëanaro refused his meal. Again.”

Finwë sighed, all of his grief concentrated in that one breath. “Let him be.”

The servant bowed and promptly left, not wishing to deal with the king’s pain.

Finwë rested his chin on his hands. What had he done wrong? How did it come to this? He could have addressed these questions in the letter he was writing to the Queen, but it felt like Indis would not the right person to talk to.

He thought of Fëanaro’s early days then, longing to return to those happier times, even but for a moment. But were they ever happy? He loved his firstborn dearly and took pride in all of Fëanaro’s achievements, first small steps of a child, then great achievements known to all the Noldor. Fëanaro brightened up his days, but it had always been obvious that an essential piece was missing from their lovely family picture.  _ What did I do wrong?  _ Finwë kept asking himself even then. He could not forgive himself for Miriel’s passing; he should have done something, should have been enough for her to stay, and he was not.

He was faintly aware that Fëanaro might have blamed himself too; but it could not have been Fëanaro’s fault, Fëanaro was great and brilliant and loved. Why would he ever consider ending his life?! Was he missing his mother? Did he think his father did not love him? Was he jealous of Finwë’s affection for the younger children?Was he tired of people’s suspicion towards him?

Finwë’s eyes filled with tears as he realized how many reasons his poor son had for killing himself, and he did nothing to prevent it from happening. If it was not for the maid who came to change the sheets, Fëanaro’s soul would have been in the Halls of Mandos already.

It was the people’s reaction that hurt Finwë the most. Of course, it shouldn’t have been surprising. After Miriel died, there was grief for sure, but there was also suspicion, and distrust, and fear. Death was unfamiliar; death was scary. When Finwë married Indis, the reaction was quite adverse. It took a while for the Noldor to get used to their new queen. And now - death again, even though that failed to happen.  _ Tainted,  _ they would call Fëanaro.  _ Odd, just like his mother.  _ Finwë would keep his stern facade, as belonged to a king, but the Valar’s reaction was what broke him. To send the poor boy into exile for “violating Eru’s gift of life” to a cold Northern fortress, as if he wasn’t already miserable enough!

Finwë was king, but that night, he felt like the most powerless elf in all of Valinor. He thought then of Elwë, his long-lost friend who lived and reigned freely in Middle Earth without bothering himself with the Valar’s opinion. Had he not have accepted there cruel, deceptive beings’ promises, he would have been there, among the brown fallen leaves and cold winds, free. Maybe Miriel would have been alive. Maybe Fëanaro would have been happy.

It was chilly here, just like in Middle Earth. Dark stormy clouds were a frequent sight, and the light of the Trees was not as concentrated here as in Tirion. It rained a lot. Finwë did not mind, but he was worried that the gloomy weather would upset Fëanaro and strengthen the unhealthy despair he was experiencing. Finwë was happy, however, that all of Fëanaro’s sons willingly followed him into exile. There was so much unity and love in their family; perhaps, after all, Fëanaro made a better father than Finwë himself.

Outside, his adorable grandchildren were playing ball. Makalaurë and Curufinwë desperately competed against Tyelkormo, which was sure not at all a fair match. Finwë could not suppress a smile despite his woes.

Carnistiro sat nearby on a log, writing something. “One day without rain, and these idiots have to be out here screaming,” he complained. Finwë approached to pet his hair, only to receive grumbling in response.

“Grandfather!” Tyelko yelled. “Look how far I’m throwing!” With that, he flew the ball. It landed somewhere far beyond the walls of Formenos, causing a disappointed sigh in the other two players.

“Good job, now you ruined it for everyone,” Curvo nodded at the horizon where the ball had disappeared and then quickly headed inside. It was growing windy, and he did not want to stay immobile while sweaty.

“I am not searching for it,” stated Makalaurë and followed his younger brother.

Tyelko groaned in disappointment. 

“That was a fine throw, darling,” Finwë reassured, patting him on the shoulder. The boy’s face lit up.  _ He is still so young,  _ Finwë could not help but think.  _ They all are. Even Fëanaro. This is too much for them. _

Not to mention the smallest member of their family. “Where is your nephew, dear?” Finwë inquired softly.

Tyelko scratched the top of his head. “Curvo dropped him off at dad’s room when we went to play.”

The king took a deep breath. He had to visit Fëanaro - he knew he had to. But he also knew that the last time he tried to talk to his poor son, Fëanaro cried and asked him to leave. While they had certainly drifted apart since Finwë’s second marriage, it was now that they were the least close.

That was ridiculous and unacceptable. Fëanaro was vulnerable, needed him the most, and he had to be by Fëanaro’s side. Indis and their children would be fine. They could wait. Fëanaro was the most important now.

They had to see each other.


	2. Chapter 2

Little Tyelpë sat in Fëanaro’s lap, warm and small like a cat. He was playing with the silver trinkets woven into his grandfather’s thick hair. Fëanaro had put them there just for Tyelpë - these days, he would not wear any jewelry or ornate clothing, and even the Silmarils sat locked up in the vault.

He had been thinking, to his utter shame, of another attempt, one more venture into that dark corridor he had seen, the one that perhaps led into the Halls of Mandos. He had planned it, a different way that would not be interrupted by a servant. But then, there was a knock on the door, and the little elfling with bright eyes stormed in. How could he think of leaving this tiny thing? Curvo was far too young to handle the child alone. He was, too, heartbroken, as his wife left him, and having a possible loss of father on top of that… Curvo’s mother would not be any help either - Nerdanel had withdrawn herself, and the very thought of her made Fëanaro’s heart pinch. “You have gone mad,” she said. “I have warned you,” she said. “I want no affiliation with you,” she said. Not even when he sunk this low, when he tried to kill himself, did she come visit. Nor did she try to protest the Valar’s decision. Mahtan came to see him before their departure to Formenos, and held him tightly, and kissed all the children goodbye. Even Nolofinwë expressed his support!

“Sometimes family members are the worst enemies to each other and hurt each other the most,” Fëanaro murmured, petting Tyelpë’s hair. “I hope you never come to learn that, my sweet darling.”

Tyelpë looked at him straight, his eyes wide and somehow conscious, as if he understood. But then the spell broke, and the child giggled and tried to put a strand of Fëanaro’s hair in his mouth.

“No, you can’t do that,” the older elf chided gently. “If I want to wash my hair, I’ll take a bath.”

“Where’s mom?” Tyelpë asked suddenly.

Fëanaro sighed. He hoped no one in his family would ever ask this question again - and now, lo and behold, they are all of them are motherless.

“You know your parents had a fight, right, Tyelp?” He tried to be gentle, but there was no denying it, as the poor thing had to witness that fight.

“Idril and Tyelp had a fight,” the child pouted. “But then Idril came back…”

“Sometimes it’s harder when you’re an adult.” Fëanaro internally shook head at himself. As a kid, he hated when Finwë would say that; how did he turn into that same person?

No. He would not be Finwë. He would never forget his children, or Tyelpë. He would rather remain single and unhappy than put them through those things.

“I don’t care!” Tyelpë spat out. “I want mommy back!”

Fëanaro did not know what to say. He was not even allowed to leave Formenos.

“I want back!” Tyelpë fussed. “I want to see Idril, and Finda! Grandpa, can we go home? Please?”

“But grandpa cannot leave,” Fëanaro replied quietly. “The Valar don’t allow me to…”

“Uncle Tyelko said, fuck the Valar!’” Tyelpë exclaimed, his sweet young face all fierce.

“You can’t say such words, Tyelpë,” Fëanaro shook his head, smiling. “But yes. Fuck them.”

The little thing giggled loudly, clapping his hands and wriggling in Fëanaro’s lap.

“I love you, Tyelpë,” Fëanaro whispered suddenly, sniffling. Tears burned his eyes.

“Grandpa all sad,” Tyelpë looked up at him with care and concern, his tiny hand reaching up to stroke Fëanaro’s cheek.

Fëanaro almost cried at this sweet display of compassion. People would say their family was tainted, but how could something so pure stem from it then? Maybe the others were tainted instead. Maybe the Valar were! Who said they were pure and unmistakable?

His own father, along with Ingwë and Elwë Singollo, decided to trust the Valar. Ingwë was the most useless man in all of Valinor, Finwë was the one who decided to marry Indis (and everybody could see how  _ that  _ turned out), and Elwë… Elwë did not end up going here!

Chewing on his lower lip in a fit of stressful thinking, Fëanaro tried to recall what he had heard of Middle Earth - and of Elwë. Middle Earth was cold and plagued by harsh winds, Middle Earth was dark and unknown. Middle Earth was not under the order and control of the Valar. It sounded like Formenos but better.

“Grandpa,” Tyelpë called, impatiently, wriggling in his hold. “The door!” Someone must have been knocking for a while while he was here thinking.

“Some in!” Fëanaro raised his tired voice.

“Tyelpling?”

The door creaked, and of course; it was Finwë’s deceptively smiling face. Fëanaro sighed.

“Sweetness, the cart has just arrived from Tirion,” Finwë cooed to the jumping child. “What did you ask for again?”

“Strudels! Strudels!” Tyelpë squealed, making both of them smile.

“And cinnamon rolls,” Finwë managed to add before the elfling ran out of the room. His yelling could soon be heard outside. Poor servants!

“I wish I was at the age when food could make me happy,” Finwë sighed, looking up at his firstborn.

Fëanaro returned the gaze. Of course, his father’s eyes were sad and hopeful and slightly guilty; not guilty enough. “You’re at it again?” he suggested mercilessly.

“Fëanaro,” Finwë begged softly. “My boy, please, give me a chance…”

“Did you give  _ me  _ a chance?!” Fëanaro cried out all of a sudden, standing up so abruptly his chair fell back with a loud thump. “Did you give me a chance when you decided you needed to have more brats?!”

“Naro…” Finwë whispered, horrified.

“Don’t you  _ Naro _ me!” The younger Noldo seemed much bigger than he actually was when he was this displeased, and no amount of height difference could make up for that. “I tried my best my whole life! I tried to be  _ enough!  _ But you could never have enough, could you!”

“I d-don’t know what you mean,” Finwë sobbed, absent-mindedly staring at his son’s shaking hands. “I’ve always been proud of you, Fëanaro…”

“Oh yes?! Is that why you decided to bring that bitch to the house?”

“Fëanaro!”

“Is that why you decided to have more children? Is that why you singled out that piece of shit Nolofinwë and trained him to be your co-ruler while I was busy trying to win the love I’ve never had?!”

The air was crackling with tension; Finwë would not be surprised to see a lightning dash right between the two of them. “Son,” he spoke firmly. “I’ve always loved you. And I’ve always loved you the most, as you’re my firstborn.”

“No,” Fëanaro disagreed, yet his voice was calmer this time.

“Why?..” Finwë stepped closer, his hand reaching forward in a gesture of peace. “Why don’t you believe me, darling boy?” his gentle voice rang soothingly.

“Because…” Fëanaro sniffled, looking away. “Because if so, why did you think you needed more children?”

“I just thought we were lonely, darling,” Finwë whispered, taking his son’s hands gently. It sounded heartfelt… “We were just the two of us, a sweet little Prince and I.”

Fëanaro nodded, looking down and struggling not to cry more.

“I was busy ruling, and the little Naro sat all alone…”

“All alone,” a weak voice confirmed as Fëanaro was wrapped into a hug.

“Servants’ children had mothers and brothers and sisters, and my Fëanaro was all by himself, as if his father wasn’t the most powerful of the Noldor…”

The only reply was sobbing.

“I thought we wanted a big family… We… Miriel and I thought of a few children, at least three, she said, maybe five…”

Poor Fëanaro almost choked on his tears, looking up at his father. “It’s… I thought…”

“No, no, why would you think that, darling?” Finwë whispered. “I love you. I always have. There has not been a day I haven’t thanked Eru for having you.”

Fëanaro shook his head. “But how?.. If it wasn’t for me…”

“We don’t know that…” Finwë held him close, as if shielding him from the pain and the Valar and the wind and the noise outside. “All I know is that I have my son. And I want it to stay that way.”

“Alright,” Fëanaro muttered, barely audible. “I, I promise… No more attempts.”

“Thank you. Thank you.”

As Finwë was about to sigh with relief, Tyelpë returned, his small face stuffed with food, and his jacket decorated with crumbs. “Grandpa! Grandpa!”

The term usually applied to both of them. “What is it, Tyelpling?” Finwë asked, giving Fëanaro time to get himself together.

“Uncle Nolo is here!” the boy informed, his eyes shining with excitement. “Uncle Nolo” was his hero, despite his family’s traditional distrust towards the man, and he was understandably happy.

Not so Fëanaro. “Can he leave us be just this once?” he whispered, sounding not even mad, just exhausted. “Father?..”

“Tyelpë, is Idril here? Go meet her!” Finwë encouraged, and the boy flew, full of new exciting hopes. “Nolo is here because of you, dear,” he assured his older son. “There is no other reason for him to be here. He loves you. Please, my son, in the name of our reconciliation, could you give him a chance? Just one?”

Fëanaro growled, but Finwë could tell it was a different type of growl. “Alright. But if he screws it up…”

“Language!”

Soon followed heavy steps up the stairs, and a strong knock on the door.

“Let yourself in, since you decided to show up!” Fëanaro yelled, now comfortably seated in the chair, with one of his feet on the desk. Finwë shook his head.

Nolofinwë appeared in the doorway, dirty, tired, and ultimately unhappy. He let in some background noise, particularly children screeching - apparently, Idril was indeed visiting as well. The prince stepped forward, closing the door behind him, and the atmosphere quickly grew tense again.

“You look great.” Fëanaro’s mood was not going down yet.

“Father,” Nolofinwë bowed. “Fëanaro.”

The latter spared him a nod. 

“What is it, Nolofinwë?” The king sensed something was amiss immediately.

Quickly, Nolofinwë walked towards Fëanaro’s desk and collapsed into a chair. Fëanaro straightened, intrigued, forgetting he hated being seated next to his half-brother.

“We had a public meeting,” the younger prince exhaled.

“And?” Finwë arched a brow.

“Lord Manwë was present.”

“And?”

“We talked about Fëanaro.”

“Don’t tease, give us the whole story,  _ brother,”  _ Fëanaro demanded, his nails knocking impatiently on the surface of the desk.

“And I told him, in the presence of Lady Varda, Lord Namo, King Ingwë, and a vast group of Noldorin officials of various levels, that he is cruel and has no heart, that he has not the slightest idea how an elven fëa functions, and that it would have been best that the Noldor had never come to Valinor.”

In the matter of a minute, two things Finwë had never expected to happen happened: his middle son disappointed him, and his older son embraced his half-brother heartily.

“You are my favorite sibling,” Fëanaro chirped as Finwë was busy slapping his own forehead over and over again and praying to Eru. “What did he say? Wait, no, what was his face like? Did Mandos say anything?! Ha-ha! I bet stupid Ingwë scrunched up his face like he bit up a peppercorn! How did your wife react? Did you bring all the kids here? No, that’s fine, we’ll put Findekano in Maitimo’s room, and Idril can stay with Tyelpë. Were you the one who brought those strudels? Yes, you’ve made Tyelpë happy, you weasel! Ha-ha.”

Outside, the servants were busy unloading the family’s possessions, and two of Fëanaro’s sons were laughing their heads off along with Nolofinwë’s daughter. It was raining, just a bit, but it hardly bothered anybody.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things heat up in Tirion.

“I knew it from the start,” said the woman in a blue apron, a Vanya-Noldo, judging from her golden hair and grey eyes. She turned away from the fruit stand and to the crowd, making sure everyone could hear her. “He’s a disease. The Queen wouldn’t have died if he weren’t.”

“Watch your tongue,” replied a dark-haired fruit trader. “He is your Prince, whether you like it or not, and your King’s kin.

“Leave the poor thing alone,” a brunette supported. “He’s been through enough!”

“Have you seen the Silmarils?” exclaimed the fruit traider’s tall customer. “No evil could make those!”

“Oh, forget her, that Vanyarin spawn!” the brunette waved her hand in disgust.

The blonde blew up. “What?! How dare you! I am a subject of King Finwë like yourself!”

“Well, clearly, you don’t respect the royal family, so go ahead and haul your ass up the Taniquetil!”

Meanwhile, the blonde’s dark-haired wife showed up, wearing a work apron and heavy steel-toed boots. An even bigger crowd gathered, some yelling unpleasantries toward Prince Fëanaro, some defending him, and yet some encouraging the two groups to shut up and mind their own business. Finally, the town guards interfered, dragging the blonde and the brunette in different directions as they continued to shout insults at each other. The situation was…

“Unprecedented,” Prince Arafinwë concluded, putting the report down. “Never before had we encountered anything like this.”

“We have, my lord,” Erestor contradicted softly.

Arafinwë turned to his brother’s assistant, his lovely blue eyes widening curiously.

“When Queen Miriel died,” Erestor bowed his head. “You weren’t yet born, my lord. Many were frightened by such a tragedy happening in our own royal family. Some saw it as a bad sign… Suspicion arose among our people. It only became worse when…” Erestor chewed on his lip, looking away.

“When my parents married,” the prince nodded, his face plain.

“The Valar promised us life without sorrows, safe and bright,” Erestor muttered suddenly. “And now it’s anything but.”

“Have you ever thought of going back?” The very idea seemed absurd to Arafinwë, and he longed to hear a passionate “no” from the older elf.

And yet Erestor nodded. “I miss the tall pines and cold winds, my lord. But most of all, I miss our simple life, back when rules and rites were less rigid and elaborate, when we had no authority above us but the shimmering stars.”

“Sounds like complete chaos to me,” Arafinwë shook his head. No wonder his brother was unable to calm down the Noldor, with an advisor like this.

“Your eldest thinks otherwise,” Erestor smiled, a little less friendly than before.

“Findarato is far too young to think  _ anything,”  _ the prince cut off.

Erestor smiled still - it was starting to make Arafinwë irritated. “The world is wide, my lord. It has a place for every opinion.”

“Our place is  _ here! _ ” The prince’s eyes glowed, a faint resemblance of Finwë’s fire.

“ _ My _ place is near my liege.”

Erestor bowed and promptly marched away, his tall, heavy boots punching the tiles loudly as he moved.

”Formenos is about to grow bigger than Tirion,” Arafinwë uttered, shaking his head. What could he do against so great a divide, even among his own family? Findarato was speaking of freedom, of self-rule, Artanis - of discovery, of new lands to own and wars to fight. And their brothers, as always, followed their lead. He didn’t even know where each of them was right now; he had not seen Findarato for at least a week! Meanwhile, Eärwen was making prolonged visits to Alqualondë, and the young prince feared the example of Anairë and Istarnië. 

After the royal family fell apart, their people followed suit. Soldiers, bakers, and merchants alike voiced their judgement of the Valar’s actions. Smiths left their workshops to debate in the streets. Local art shop put up a sign that read, “We shall not sell to Valar bootlickers.” Findarato’s girlfriend left him. Spouses separated, many requesting that Manwë break their bond. The rebellious moods were encouraged by that dark being who walked around wearing an unfashionable cloak and giving out unsolicited advice. And Arafinwë’s father decided to take a vacation to Formenos instead of handling the situation! And now Erestor went with him!

“I saw the advisor depart,” a soft, clear voice rang from the doorway.

“Mother.” Arafinwë turned to bow his head slightly in greeting.

Indis was ever gorgeous. Her flowy dress shone like gold, which was only enhanced by her jewelry. The dancing earrings that turned subtly into a necklace were made by the most skilled of Noldorin jewellers - her stepson; a silent show of support that Arafinwë knew Fëanaro would not appreciate.

“You know I am always by your side,” she spoke, her voice enhanced by the echo from the tall ceiling. “I am here for you, my dear son.”

Arafinwë smiled. He had always suspected he was mom’s favorite - golden-headed, closest to her in character. Irimë had a prominent Vanyarin side also, yet she lacked their mother’s level-headedness and interest in politics. Findis turned out almost entirely a Noldo. And Nolofinwë… Nolofinwe was more alike to Fëanaro than either of them cared to admit.

“What shall I do, mother?” the prince begged, his barely visible eyebrows arching dramatically. “I’m not ready for this burden…”

“No one is,” she smiled. 

“I…” he shook his head. “There have been reports of our people protesting against what was done to Fëanaro. And… Erestor spoke of returning to Middle-Earth.”

Indis gasped, and the prince realized that the last bit had slipped through his mother’s calculations.

“I can only hope such ideas are not coming from your father,” Indis frowned. “But in case they do… Middle-Earth is beyond the sea. And Tirion is not a port.”

Arafinwë froze. That’s right, that’s right! How had he not thought of this?!

Indis stepped closer and took his hands, clutching them. “Ride now. It’s a long way to Alqualondë. Talk to the king. I will take your place here.”

Arafinwë looked at his mother with a slight doubt in his eyes, a faint anxiety. But Indis smiled at him so reassuringly, and his concerns dissipated. “Farewell, mother,” he nodded, smiling back, and strolled off.

“May Varda’s grace protect you,” she whispered lovingly.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nolo has issues.

Fëanaro’s fingers feature more jewelry than some courtiers own altogether; even his nails are lined with golden wire, providing for claw-like extensions. One would think someone who looks like that has never known manual labor, but little Nolo knows for sure that just a few moments ago, Fëanaro was in the forge.It is strange how he combines those two personalities, a prince who is looked up to for new trends in attire and a laborer who skilfully produces these pretty things everyone is losing their mind for. Nolo knows also that even his mother, Queen Indis, has lost her facade for one of Fëanaro’s dancing earring models and asked for a similar set for herself. The master was happy to grant the wish, and soon, the Queen could be seen with earrings so long they could pass for a necklace. From thence, the fashion travelled up the Mount Taniquetil, and down to the shores of Alqualondë. Fëanaro could be proud of himself.

Nolo wishes he could be just a little bit older, old enough to dress like that, so he can ask Fëanaro for something too. So he can approach his always uninterested brother ( _ half-brother!) _ , so he can talk to Fëanaro and be listened to...

But Fëanaro spares him neither a word nor a look. Little Nolo could just as well ask for an audience with Manwë! He was so happy to have Findis - though even she preferred Fëanaro over Nolo - and the birth of Arvo and Irimë made him so much happier. But the appearance of additional siblings never closed the wound in his heart. Long, long years of muted stinging that occasionally turned into acute, throbbing pain; years of neglect, of questioning his worth; nights of crying…

“...Nolo? Nolo?? Hello-o! Has your soul departed?”

Nolofinwë blinked, shaking off the memories. “I am here, brother mine.”

Fëanaro gave him a look yet said nothing. Despite such a miracle, Nolo felt mad - or, rather, disappointed. Unsatisfied.

“What’s wrong, son?” Finwë asked gently. Nolofinwë hated that tone. He was not the suicidal one here!!

“Fëanaro, have you said something again?” Finwë was obviously doing his best not to sound accusing. Poor father, it must have been so hard - not to offend Fëanaro who was in a fragile state of mind while knowing he was the only one who could put Nolo in such a mood.

“I’m not hungry anymore,” Nolo said through his teeth and rushed away.

This damn fortress was so plainly built there was no nook to slide into and hide himself and his feelings like he was used to! All that was available to him was this long, narrow hallway, stupidly dark and cursed with the loudest echo.

“Nolofinwë!”

_ Ah, now we’re worried? Now we care?! _

His pace quickened, ugly wall bricks flashing by him like flies. Suddenly, the bricks were in front of him: a wall with some fake fireplace and a large shield with a Fëanorian star. Dead end! Where had he missed the turn?!

“Nolofinwë, stop running from me, damnit!”

It was hard to tell how far Fëanaro was, yet Nolo turned around and responded.

“You’ve been doing it to me my whole life! Why the fuck you care?!”

“What?!” the breathy voice was getting closer. “The fuck do you mean?!”

“I’ve been proving my loyalty my whole life!” Nolo cried so hard his throat was scratching. “I’ve followed you around! I’ve told you how much I cared! I tried to be like you, I tried to dress like you, I TRIED YOUR FUCKING SMITHING!” There was nothing to throw, so he slammed that fucking shield behind him, and Eru, did it hurt. “And all it took you to love me was me flicking Manwë off?! You should have just said so, you moron!” The entire fortress could hear him, but he did not care. “You fucking dick! I hate you! I HATE YOU!! I…”

“Nolo.” He did not notice when Fëanaro managed to get this close. “Nolo, darling, don’t scream. Listen to me…”

The only reason he didn’t scream was because his voice was gone - and, secretly, he became weak in Fëanaro’s arms.

“I’m so sorry, Nolo. So sorry. I thought you were trying to replace me.. Goodness, what an idiot, I thought you were going to steal father from me… But it was me you were after… Oh Nolo, I’m so sorry… brother…”

Nolo cried silently, shaking so hard.

Three cups of tea and many-many hugs later, Nolo was no longer as mad at Fëanaro. The room was nice, reminding him of home, and the blanket was warm. Maitimo was settled on the other sofa, looking at them with his sharp icy eyes, cautious of a usual outburst; there was none.

“So,” Finwë asked before he even got through the doorway, “is the conflict over?”

“You wish,” Nolo murmured but Fëanaro smiled.

“We must discuss the course of action, if my lords don’t mind,” Erestor noted, sitting down next to the youngest lord. “Is anyone against Maitimo joining us? I believe he is grown enough.”

Maitimo’s freckled face turned pink as everyone expressed their approval.

“So, after my notorious speech,” Nolo began mysteriously, “an admirer of mine approached and offered me to secure our exodus.”

“And who does that admirer happen to be?” Fëanaro sounded almost jealous.

“Oh Naro, you are not going to believe me…”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the end of all things.

The people of Alqualondë and Avallonë were making up the wildest theories. According to the South Alqualondë mariners, Fëanaro was Melkor trying to break apart the Noldorin royal family. The fact that Melkor and Fëanaro had been seen in the same place and time on multiple occasions did not seem to disturb anybody.

The Northsiders believed that the Valar were set out to separate the brightest Eldar from the rest to ensure their full domination over the elven race.The fact that King Ingwë had not been separated confirmed their suspicions.

The merchant community of Avallonë came to the conclusion that all of Prince Fëanaro’s troubles stemmed from the fact that he did not have a ship to travel at will. A ship was then purchased and decorated in the most pleasing manner. Only later did the merchants realize that Formenos was landlocked, and thus there was no way to deliver the gift to the Prince’s door. They sent a letter to the Prince, notifying him that he now owned a ship.

The Seamstress Guild of Tol Eressëa decided that Fëanaro needed a new wife. They sent the Noldorin Prince a list of candidates, along with their portraits and samples of their work. If he married the smith’s daughter, surely he could marry a seamstress! A couple candidates even claimed infertility, reasoning that a man with seven sons definitely did not need more children. Some of the ladies also noted that, in case of rejection, they would happily settle for the younger Curufinwë and take care of the little Prince Telperinquar.

Having learned of that, some young Telerin fishermen proceeded to action as well. Why would Prince Fëanaro need another woman after everything he’d been through?! Surely what he needed was a strong man like himself who would hold him in time of need and provide entertainment without having to deal with the screaming, sheet-soiling consequences.

After these overheated elves of all sexes heard that Prince Nolofinwë was now alone as well, the Alqualondë Postal Service went on strike and refused to deliver letters. King Olwë had to interfere, and the Queen issued a proclamation explaining why it was not the best idea to court the poor Princes. Atarinkë was still receiving mail, however.

Princesses Istarnië, Anairë, and Nellë retreated to King Ingwë’s palace, letting their servants deal with the thirsty mail. The only one who was spared was King Finwë himself - no one wanted to be his third spouse - or Fëanaro’s stepparent.

Meanwhile, King Olwë had other matters to attend to: a visitor had spoken to him of the situation in Tirion. The news agitated him to no end, stirring up something in his chest that had been dormant for years and years.

* * *

Arafinwë was not used to riding at such a tempo. The road was not long, but he was dirty and on horseback instead of the comfort of his carriage. Oh, how he regretted not having exercised with Nolo!

The poor Prince did not even take time to bathe and dress properly, which was very unlike him. He could not subject Eärwen to that, no; so he went against his mother’s advice, which was also very unlike him.

And yet, despite all these sacrifices, he was late. The damage was already done.

* * *

“What was done to your half-brother was unforgivable,” King Olwë told him sternly. They weren’t in the throne room, just on the terrace, but his father-in-law needed no trone to look stern and powerful. “I am surprised you do not recognize this.”

“He violated the laws of the Valar!” Eru witness, the Prince tried to be subtle, but the matter was of too great importance. “The laws of life!”

“Would you treat your own children that way?” the King inquired. “Seeing them so desperate they are ready to end their life - would you offer them no consolation, no support? Would you merely send them away? If Findarato…”

“Findarato,” Arafinwë interrupted, which earned him a disappointed look from Olwë, “would never do such a thing. He knows his place and obeys his parents.”

“Oh, does he now?” Arafinwë did not like that smile. “Come in, darling!”

The curtains parted, and the aforementioned Prince stepped in.

“You… you?!” Arafinwë did not know what to think. “What are you doing here, son? Your place is near your mother!”

_ “My place is near my liege,” _ Findarato announced as he sat by Olwë’s side.

“And who is that?” irritation was clear in Arafinwë’s voice.

“King Finwë. I am here on his behalf.” Findarato fell silent, letting Olwë continue.

“Your people are leaving these shores, son,” the King spoke softly. “And I am giving them the means. It’s too late to change my mind, Arafinwë.”

Arafinwë hid his hands under the table for how shaky they were. “You would let them, my King?” he inquired, his voice almost even. “Let them use your people’s proud creations, exploit the sailors?”

“Why exploit?” Olwë nodded at Findarato. “He paid!”

So, the matter was truly lost.

“What did I miss in your upbringing?..” Arafinwë grunted, his face falling into his hands.

* * *

“We have it, then!” Fëanaro announced, staring victoriously into an unfolded letter. Lots of others were scattered nearby - Findarato’s handwriting was small, and it took some work to pick his letter out of dozens of marriage offers.

The whole fortress became a disaster before the letter was even received. The regular dwellers of Formenos were packing up, new arrivals from Tirion kept coming to express support and help the royal family, and the servants were trying to make sure Princess Itarillë and Prince Telperinquar were not locked in some trunk and stuck in a pile of belongings.

“Who is to go to Tirion and gather people there?” inquired Nolofinwë, distracting his brother from staring blankly into the letter.

“Well, in case you forgot who is the King of the Noldor…”

“No,” said Finwë. “I said I will not come back until my son is permitted to return. I cannot go against my word.”

Fëanaro then looked at Nolofinwë expectantly.

“I appreciate your trust, brother mine, but I am exiled just like you.”

“Well, don’t forget the younger generation,” Finwë smiled encouragingly.

Maitimo was staring at his nails absent-mindedly when he was suddenly reminded who was in the line of succession after Fëanaro. He flopped his pretty lashes in surprise, as if asking, “ _ Me??” _

“You, my darling,” said the King. “Aren’t you of age? Aren’t you the brightest of the Princes of the Noldor?”

Maitimo blushed so hard his face soon matched his hair in color.

Fëanaro looked his son over, as if examining a foreign weapon - and Maitimo received a nod before the silence became unbearable. 

And just as the poor young Noldo was about to explode with emotions, a younger Noldo ran in.

“Grandpa, grandpa,” screamed Telperinquar, “there is a strange dark man at the door, and he called me a patha-... pathetic little nui-sance, can I kick him in the shins?”

“Yes,” said Fëanaro without thinking.

“Wait, what man?” Nolofinwë rose from his seat. “If he is not a Noldo, he might be sent by the Valar!”

“I knew they were after my Silmarils,” Fëanaro grumbled and promptly marched away. Having given the worried Finwë a reassuring nod, Nolofinwë followed him.

“I’m sorry, are you Manwë or Melkor?” Nolo heard the snarky from the gates - Fëanaro was a lot faster than him. “Manwë dresses better, you must be Melkor!”

There was some murmuring in reply, and Fëanaro fell silent.

Nolo decided to give him time and hide behind a column.

“Friend of the Noldor, you say? Well, the Noldor have no need for your help. But thank you.”

“You are in more danger than you think, son of Finwë,” the murmuring continued. The sound was so unpleasant it made Nolo flinch. “That half-brother of yours, how do you know he is not a spy of the Valar?”

“You are a Vala yourself, and your brother is no other than Manwë,” the snarky Noldo retorted. “Solve your own family troubles before coming to meddle into mine.”

Smile blossomed on Nolo’s face; he had never loved Fëanaro as much as in that moment.

But the dark shade continued. “How do you know the Silmarils are safe in Formenos?”

Now,  _ that  _ was a dirty trick. Nolofinwë would not let that creature play on Fëanaro’s worries and insecurities!

Promptly, the younger Noldo ended up near the talkers. “Interesting how quickly the conversation took that turn,” he hissed at the Dark Valar. “Is that the reason for your coming?”

Immediately, Fëanaro turned red, and Nolo barely suppressed a smile, thinking how lucky he was to be the witness and not the one causing Fëanaro’s wrath.

“Get. Thee. Gone.” Fëanaro’s mouth seemed to let out steam along with words. Even Melkor could not resist stepping away. Fëanaro forced him to retreat further, to the other side of the gates, and slammed them in the Vala’s face. 

“That’s my brother!” Nolo applauded, and for a moment, it seemed like he would be the next victim - but Fëanaro stepped closer and held him tight.

* * *

“That is the most beautiful ship I have ever seen!”

“And that is the happiest I have ever seen you, Fëanaro,” Finwë spoke tenderly. “You seem to have many, many friends among the Eldar, my son!”

King Olwë was busy cradling the crying Tyelpë - unlike his cousin Itarillë, he would not have his mother join the trip, and his poor father ran out of ideas how to soothe him.

Maitimo was looking at the waves like a conqueror at the land about to be attacked. He was not a shy little boy anymore, no - a leader! At least, that’s what Finno said.

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay, father?” begged Eärwen.

“I will be back, my love,” the King promised sadly. “I have always been there for you - but I will never forgive myself for leaving Elwë alone. Only he can grant me forgiveness.”

The soft-spoken Telerin captain who was assigned to the royal ship discovered that courting Fëanaro in person was a lot harder than by mail - in fact, Fëanaro did not seem to hear him as he was examining the ship’s inner workings. Nolofinwë was as tall as the cliffs of Tol Eressëa and thus intimidating. The captain had almost given up when he accidentally bumped into Prince Tyelkormo whom he took for a Teller and yelled at. The Prince turned out to be very forgiving, and soon, the captain was showing him his collection of ornate maps while the passengers were busy goodbyeing ashore.

“I love you, father,” said Fëanaro, blushing. “Thank you.. for being with me through all this…”

Finwë pretended that the strong sea wind blowing his son’s hair into his face was the reason for him tearing up. “Of course, son. I would do anything for you, my darling boy.”

“And... thank you for giving me Nolo…” Fëanaro’s voice reduced to a whisper - Eru forbid Nolofinwë would hear that!

Finwë opened his mouth to reply, but a mighty slap on his back distracted him and almost made him choke.

“We’re going to see Elwë, Fin! Can you believe it?!”

“Yes, yes, Olwë…”


End file.
